


Seduction: Gene Hunt Style

by collatorsden_archivist



Category: Life on Mars & Related Fandoms, Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Humor, M/M, PG-13 - Blue Cortina, Time Period: 1973-1981 (Life on Mars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-13
Updated: 2009-02-13
Packaged: 2019-01-20 18:33:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12439098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collatorsden_archivist/pseuds/collatorsden_archivist
Summary: Written for the 1973flashfic Valentines Challenge





	Seduction: Gene Hunt Style

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Janni, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [the Collators' Den](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Collators%27_Den), which was moved to the AO3 to ensure access and longevity for the fanworks. I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in October 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the Collators' Den collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/collatorsden/profile).

Seduction:

 

Gene Hunt Style!!

 

 

 

Since entering 1973 Sam had paid little attention to the calendar. Dates had no meaning when you lived out of time and the Mancunian criminal community ensured that the weekends were also non existent. So it was in a state of complete and utter obliviousness that Sam entered CID one fine February morning. He was ready for another day of fighting the dirty fight against the underbelly of Manchester’s society. Well as ready as he could be with the ever persistent hangover. 

 

With a head full of procedures and protocols he made his way through the labyrinth of paper stacks and rubbish to his desk, his oases of neatness. Although usually a very observant detective, he totally failed to see the lurid pink hearts hanging from the ceiling and the pink note pinned to his chair which read.

 

 

Roses are Red

 

Ponces are Pink

 

Inside your tight Arse

 

Is where I’d like to Sink!!

 

 

 

Paperwork: find form, fill out report, sign, file, repeat. Sam diligently worked through his teetering pile of yellowing, nicotine stained files. Totally focused on the task , he was lost in a happy world of dotted I’s and crossed T’s where the office noise was mere hum in the background. Witness reports, crime scene reports, forensic reports, personnel reports, love poem, procedure report, witness…… His concentration was broken, the rose-tinted world faded as he stared in shock at the pink note scrawled across one of his beloved reports.

 

 

Blaggers are Yellow

 

Plods are Blue

 

Bend over me Desk

 

And I’ll give you a Screw!!

 

 

Wearily he glanced around the office, expectant to be, yet again, the butt of some homosexual joke. However, he couldn’t see anything too suspicious, only the usual scene on a slow day. DS Carling was half asleep with a fag hanging out from under his yellowing moustache. Chris pretending to work with a superman comic stuffed under his desk and the rest of the nameless ones were impersonating furniture, yep perfectly normal. The fact that DCI Hunt was nowhere to be seen failed to register with the worried DI. Sam jumped to his feet, retrieved his jacket and left for the canteen. He jammed his hands into his pockets in an effort to quell his rising agitation, hoping to gain comfort from the soft leather. However, his fingers met a paper and he pulled out a crumpled note with yet another rude pink message:

 

 

Poppies are Red

 

Beans make you Fart

 

Drop your tight sexy Trousers

 

And be MY cheap little Tart!!

 

 

 

His inner voice raged at the unfairness of it all! Who was doing this too him and why? Wasn’t it enough that he was stuck back in the Stone Age with the Neanderthal’s. Back in the future he had been so sure of himself and comfortable with his bisexuality, but here he was labelled a poof and a nancy. He had fought hard to quell his more sensitive side. But imagery of the poems had raised certain issues and his interest was perked, despite himself. He was tired of the daily struggle of keeping the loneliness at bay and hiding his attraction to a certain male superior officer. At times he just wanted to cry at the unfairness of it all. As he inwardly fumed he realised that he was in fact leaking tears and angrily wiped his eyes. He made a quick detour to the gents, in order to pull himself together; however, any hope of salvation was lost as he came to a standstill in the gents. He gazed in horror at the message written across the toilet mirror, in what appeared to be, bright pink lipstick.

 

 

Roses are Red

 

Ponces are from Hyde

 

Get nekkid Quick

 

And give me cock a good Ride!!

 

 

Sam rubbed his eyes, was he the only one who could see the texts? He knew that his sight could not always be trusted as he often saw things which others didn’t. His mind raced as he attempted to find a logical explanation for the messages; maybe the doctors were testing some sort of new medication on him or perhaps he had finally tipped the balance into insanity. Belatedly he realised that the gents was not really the best place to pace as he stubbed a toe on a toilet. He hurriedly hobbled away, not wanting to be caught, yet again having an episode in the loo.

 

Sam decided that what he really needed was a quite place where he could contemplate the meaning of the messages and decided to partake in a liquid lunch down at the Pub. There were no new cases and the paperwork, for once, could go to hell. He was so preoccupied with figuring out the meaning of the surreal texts, that Sam was yet again completely oblivious to his surroundings. He passed the entrance of a pink bedecked canteen without a second glance and the heart shaped paper chains around the front desk failed to catch his eye as he left the building. Lost within a daze of confusion, he missed the vital clues.

 

 

 

This dream like state held Sam tight in it’s grip until about the third pint. The only logical conclusion to which he had come to, based on the evidence at hand although without the time for a thorough investigation, was that a certain someone, either the cretinous DS Carling or the boorish DCI Hunt, was taking the piss and they deserved a good smack. For why else, Sam reasoned would anyone in their right mind, write him pornographic homoerotic poems. Perhaps in the enlightened 21st century, it could have been , theoretically possible for a male work colleague to have been an admirer and especially had it been a certain day for romantic gestures. But this was not the scenario now for Sam knew without a doubt that it was more probably of aliens landing on the stations roof than Gene Hunt declaring everlasting love and devotion for him. Sam pouted at his beer as this depressive thought ran through his brain. Oh if only, Sam sighed, a heartfelt sound of the lonely. He idly played with his beer mat but froze in shock as he turned it over and found yet another hot pink note:

 

 

Fairies are red

 

And I forgot wot I wrote

 

So open your Mouth

 

And get me dick down your Throat!!

 

 

The note left him squirming in his seat and fuming with indignation, it was too much! He realised that it was still sort of lunchtime but he had had enough. So he decided just to go back to his grotty flat and sulk. The joke had gone too far, humiliated and hurt, he asked nelson for a bottle of house red and walked dejectedly home. Maybe if he were lucky he could drink himself to sleep quickly and put the whole nightmare behind him, bad enough that no one loved him here, but to be made fun of as well. Sam hurried his steps so that he would be caught sobbing in the street. He reached his flat feeling utterly dejected, only wanting to crawl under his bed covers. However, his heart thudded in his throat as he noticed that his front door was not completely closed and light spilled from beneath it. He cautiously pushed it open and was rendered utterly speechless at the sight that met his eyes.

 

 

Gene Hunt, his DCI, best friend and object of all his naughty fantasies stood in the middle of his flat next to a candlelit table, dressed in a tux. Sam’s tongue was stuck to the top of his mouth as he fought to control his libido and say something but his brain had cease to function. He offered no protest as Gene pulled him gently in to the flat and pushed him in to a chair at the well laid table. Sam’s voice had left him completely in the lurch as he desperately tried to question gene as to what was going on. 

 

“Guv?” he managed hoarsely

 

Gene smiled gently and handed Sam something.

 

Sam’s hand shook as he opened the hot pink envelope to reveal a heart bedecked card. At last an epiphany came and Sam understood the days events. He blushed and smiled shyly at Gene and nodded his agreement to the hot pink rhyme:

 

 

Roses are Red

 

Bond likes Martinis

 

Give us your Heart

 

Cause you’ve got the Gene Genie’s!!

 

 

Roses are Red

 

Sam don’t be Blind

 

See that I Love You &

 

Be My Valentine!!

 

 

xxxx

 

Your Gene Genie


End file.
